


The Giantess and her Huntress

by LectorEl



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: F/F, Oral Sex, Sexual Content, That one fic where Catherine shoots people, and Janet eats them, and is possibly some sort of demonic entity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-14
Updated: 2013-01-14
Packaged: 2017-11-25 10:57:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/638165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LectorEl/pseuds/LectorEl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world two verses over, where the Bats are a mafia family, Catherine married Willis to get away from her past as a hired gun, and Janet-<br/>Well, nobody's quite sure what Janet was originally. These days, she's CEO of Drake Industries, and people who want to know more than that tend to turn up dead.<br/>Unless they're Catherine Todd. Janet <i>likes</i> Catherine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Giantess and her Huntress

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [The Giantess and Her Progeny](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15627) by Heartslogos. 
  * Inspired by [We All Have Our Addictions](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15628) by redundantthinking. 
  * Inspired by [And She Said- Let There Be Darkness](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15630) by Heartslogos. 



> This was written as a blend between redundentthinking’s idea of (sort of) former assassin Catherine, and black magic addict Janet, and a version of Heart’s Mafia verse where both Catherine and Janet live to see their children grow up. Posted with permission from them both. (Thanks, both of you.)
> 
> You don’t need to know any of that, however. Just that Catherine kills people for money, the bats are a mafia family, and Janet is, as always, scary as fuck. And possibly a cannibal in this verse, but really. Can anyone say they can’t picture Janet like that?

This is a stupid idea, and the fact that Catherine is going through with it is proof that her father was right that she was nearly too foolish to remember to breathe.

“I’m here to see Ms. Drake?” Catherine said, dragging up childhood acting lessons. Corporate. Neutral tone, disengaged body language, confidence. Hands at her side, or behind her back, chin up.

The secretary looked her over. “And you are?” he asked, voice conveying just how unlikely he thought that was. Catherine had never been a good actor.

“Catherine Todd. I’m on retainer.” As a contract killer, because Janet paid too damn much to say no to. Janet’s money bought a better apartment up in midtown, private school for Jason and the accompanying doctor’s visits and vaccinations needed for enrollment.

As well as an emergency supply of Naloxone, a drug safe, and access to the better class of drug dealers who were less likely to adulterate their product with fillers. Catherine was an addict, but she wasn’t _stupid_ , and she intended to see Jason through to adulthood.

”Let her in, Henry,” Janet ordered, pushing open the lobby door. How the hell did she always knew Catherine was there?

”Hello, Jan,” Catherine said, picking up her bag.

”Hello, Catherine. I didn’t expect you to take me up on my offer.” Janet beckoned. “Come up to my office, won’t you?” Catherine followed her, on-edge. It was deeply weird to see Janet in this building of beige carpeting and painted drywall. It didn’t suit her.

She wasn’t sure if Janet needed a castle complete with throne, or a modern building of chrome and steel, but either way, the banal nature of their surroundings made Janet seem slightly unreal.

Catherine closed the door of Janet’s office behind her, and glanced around the bizarrely normal room, nonplussed. “This is very…impersonal,” she settled on. Better that than ‘lacking in replicas of torture equipment and the remains of unsatisfactory employees’.

Janet’s expression shifted minutely, like she could tell what Catherine was thinking. “I prefer to remain unremarkable in the public eye. It’s safer that way. And there are some benefits to the decor.”

“Such as?” Catherine asked, tucking away the question of why Janet needed to be safe from _anything_ for later.

“Solid wood doors, and desks that clean up easy,” Janet said, her monster smile creeping across her face. Catherine wasn’t sure if Janet was alluding to sex or murder. Possibly both. _Probably_ both. Janet’s reputation in the underworld was only slightly better than the Bats, and frankly, Catherine suspected that was more because of her discretion than any moral righteousness.

“Do you have _any_ shame?” Catherine’s voice was more curious than condemning, and when, exactly, had she gotten so comfortable with a woman who she suspected practices ritualized cannibalism?

“None,” Janet said, shaking her head. She offered Catherine her hand. “Care to test the soundproofing?” Catherine’s smiled fondly, helpless against her own reaction. There was just something about Janet that made you like her, despite her barely hidden narcissism and sociopathic behavior. Maybe even _because_ of her barely hidden narcissism and sociopathic behavior.

Whatever it was, the end result was that Catherine ended up making out with a possible cannibal on a regular basis. She should probably worry about that more.

“You are a terrible influence and I blame you for everything,” Catherine said, and took her hand. Janet’s smile turned softer, sweeter. Something almost resembling human, as she seemed to be only around Catherine.

 “I would be disappointed by anything less.” Janet reached around Catherine to flip off the office lights.

***

Time passed. Jason grew from rambunctious child to sullen teenager in an eye blink, and Catherine could barely keep up with him. Janet remained unchanged, like the statue she so often resembled, and kept Catherine in steady work with a list of targets as long as her arm.

For the most part, at least. Catherine preferred not to think of that single blood-soaked evening where she and Janet together reduced the count of Gotham’s aristocracy by two. _(Thomas Elliot. Peyton Riley. Their flesh-stripped corpses had been dredged out of the river late in May. How Janet had laughed when she saw the news.)_

Catherine leaned against the familiar wooden desk that dominated Janet’s strangely banal office, waiting for Janet to come back from whatever shadowed place her mind was currently occupying. Janet didn’t say a thing, simply stared, expressionless. Catherine stared back.

In Janet she saw too many familiar things. The same black pit that Catherine’s spent every day of her adult life fighting against had consumed Janet years before their first meeting. When you’re in there, there are only two options: Get out, or fall down. Janet was in so deep Catherine didn’t think she’d ever be free of it.

“I was ten, the first time I killed. My father put a gun in my hands, and forced me to pull the trigger. The target was a boy in my elementary school, one grade above me.” Catherine didn’t recognize her own voice, the childish pain infused in those words. She’s spent every day since then running from the memory, and suddenly, here it is, offering out on a platter like her beating heart.

“I was six the first time.” Janet doesn’t elaborate, doesn’t explain what ‘it’ was, how it happened. Just those words, sharp and stark against the evening’s grey smog. Catherine doesn’t ask. She knew Janet, as much as it is possible for anyone to know Janet. She knew enough to know that this is Janet’s private sorrow, one of those wounds that cut too deep to ever be exposed to air.

It occurred to her, for the first time that Janet, terrible and great, was afraid. Like Catherine has been afraid, all her life. They are both the monster daughters of monstrous men, and all that separates Catherine from Janet, or Janet from Catherine, is the paper-thin line between how they chose to turn.

***

“Come home with me, Catherine,” Janet- did not order. Catherine knew Janet’s command voice, and this wasn’t it.

“Jason needs a ride home from school today,” Catherine said, and slid the folder containing the details of her new assignment. She looked up at Janet, and smiled. “You’ll need to arrange for someone to pick him up.”

“Certainly,” Janet agreed. She leaned in to brush a few strands of hair from Catherine’s face. They had been dancing around this for months now. Catherine’s stomach was fluttery with nerves. They were going to do this.

The ride to Janet’s home was spent in meaningless small talk. Catherine couldn’t have said what it was they’d talked of to save her life. She could only recall the casually possessive touch of Janet’s hand on her knee.

Janet got out of the car first, and offered Catherine her hand, a parody of chivalry that made Catherine smile. She let Janet escort her in, and stared around the high entrance hall. She’d only been here once before. _(That night- )_

“You once asked what I did with what you brought me,” Janet said, and there was something vulnerable in her voice. “Would you like to see?”

“Yes.” It frightened Catherine, how much she wanted to know. She wanted every bit of Janet she could have, even the ones that scared her. She wanted Janet, any way the other woman would let herself be had.

“Follow me, then,” Janet said, voice suddenly thick and purring. She’d discarded her suit jacket, hosiery, heels and jewelry, and stood, barefoot, clad only in a thin silk blouse and knee length skirt. Her hand at the small of Catherine’s back was inhumanely warm.

Janet lead her past the main doors, through a door hidden in the paneling of the stairs, and down the narrow hallway that must have once been part of the servant’s quarters.

“What is this?” Catherine asked, staring at the small room they’d entered. Janet laughed, and the sound of it was somehow thicker than a human voice should be. It felt-impossibly-like the brush of fur against her leg.

“Welcome to my kitchen, Catherine,” Janet said, fingers trailing almost idly down her back. Janet unbuttoned her blouse, setting it aside, and stepping out of her skirt. She looked over her shoulder, and smiled. “Coming?”

Catherine nodded mutely. Somehow, despite Janet’s nudity, it was Catherine who felt exposed. Janet moved with liquid, inhumane grace, scars seeming to flash across her skin under the dim light. Catherine looked around, seeing fire-scorched stone, and tables dark with rusty stains.

“The kitchen?” Catherine asked. More laughter, and the sensation of fur across her skin too strong to ignore.

Janet leaned in, to croon in Catherine’s ear, “Fe. Fi. Fo. Fum. I smell the blood of an english man.” Catherine startled. It was only Janet’s sudden grip on her wrists that kept her from slipping. Janet’s eyes seemed to glow, and Catherine was frozen under the weight of them.

“Be he alive…” Janet’s voice dropped huskily. Catherine swallowed, grabbing the table behind her to keep from falling. “…or be he dead….”

“…Janet?” She forced past her suddenly dry throat. She reached out for Janet, needing to touch her and fearing it at the same time. Terror and arousal rose in equal measure, blending into one another, terror driving arousal, arousal heightening her terror.

Janet smiled at her, with teeth too sharp to be human, and shook her head, pressing Catherine’s hand back to the table.

She sank to her knees in front of Catherine, impossibly, inhumanly arresting. She licked her lips, and finished, “…I’ll grind his bones to make my bread.”

 _Last chance to back out_ , Catherine read in that, in the predator shine of her eyes and the prickle of claws sliding under her shirt.

“Please,” Catherine whispered. Janet’s eyes flashed, heat and possession and something Catherine would later hesitate to call love lighting them from the inside.

“Keep your hands on the table,” Janet ordered. Catherine nodded, mouth dry.

A flick of Janet’s thumb undid the button of Catherine’s jeans, and another yanked them, and her underwear, halfway down her thighs.

Catherine bit down on her lip, _hard_ , to keep from moaning, toes curling inside her worn-out sneakers. She could feel Janet smirk against the inside of her thigh, mouthing at the soft flesh, the sharp prick of fangs keeping Catherine on edge. Janet’s mouth was hot, wet heat against her thigh, biting and licking and sucking, hard enough that Catherine expected to have bruises tomorrow.

She clutched at the table, head falling backwards. “ _Fuck_ , Janet.”

“Maybe later,” Janet said, laughter filling her voice. She gripped Catherine’s thigh, thumb stroking the crease of Catherine’s hip, and bent her head. Catherine’s voice failed her.

 _Janet’s tongue- fuck, fuck, she was-_ Catherine couldn’t think. It’d been years since she’d had a partner who would do this. It made her knees shake and her arms threaten to give out, arousal coiling low in her belly.

She felt rather than saw her smile, before Janet’s tongue found her clit.

***

Janet helped her ease down to the stone floor. Catherine let her head rest on the other woman’s shoulder, and giggled breathlessly.

“You’re going to be terribly smug about this, aren’t you?” Catherine asked.

“I suppose I am, hunter of mine,” Janet said, wicked amusement all too apparent.

Catherine huffed. “Fine. But I expect a chance to return the favor.”

“Anything you wish.”


End file.
